


Fighting Dragons With You

by NarryEm



Series: Fantasy Alternate Universes/Multiverse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Harry is so shy it's adorkable, Hogwarts, Homophobic Language, M/M, Pining, Teen Angst, lots of anti-muggle language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryEm/pseuds/NarryEm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, Harry has been in love with a Greek-godlike Slytherin called Zayn Malik for five years now. And Liam may or may not be crushing hard on Niall Horan, also a Slytherin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Dragons With You

**Author's Note:**

> title from Long Live by Taylor Swift.

The thing is, it was never meant to be a, well, a _thing._

 

Harry was supposed to be playing stupid pranks because he is friends with idiots like Louis. Liam was supposed to play stern sensible father and hold Harry back but maybe Liam had a secret mischievous side that only showed on rare times. Yeah, Harry blames Liam, the muggle-born spells and everything-else-magical prodigy of Ravenclaw.

It's been a few years since the big battle between the famous Harry Potter and the notorious Lord Voldemort; no-one has expected anything to happen, really. They were all supposed to song endless praises upon endless praises about the Boy Who Lived and worship him and his friends who bravely fought and defeated the Dark forces. Except things do, in fact, still happen at Hogwarts.

 

Liam has spelled Harry so he now looks exactly like Niall, the dyed-blond Irish boy whose family is pureblood from the dawn of time. (Liam may or may not secretly call the faux blond an Irish god in his mind.) Harry's poodle-like chocolate curls have grown out to a fluffy ashen blond hue whilst his forest green eyes have morphed into piercing ocean blue ones. And Liam has even thrown in some heavy transfiguration charm so that Harry now speaks with an adorably and ridiculously thick Irish brogue. The only thing Harry has to worry about is speaking slowly like he always does. And Louis, bless his little black heart, has snogged a Slytherin bird to worm the password out of her.

 Stupid Louis and his plans.

 And that is how Harry finds himself dilly-dallying in front of the Slytherin commons entrance, lean fingers tugging down has the ends of his robe sleeves forlornly. He knows that Niall has a free hour and undoubtedly spending that time shovelling lemon sherbet and butter beers down his throat.

 "Whatcha waiting for, mate?" A deep, exotically accented voice asks, causing Harry to jump about ten feet into the air.

 Behind him is Zayn; Zayn fucking Malik. If Ireland has got the Horans, England has got the Maliks. Zayn's father is some distant actual royalty--like proper related to the ancient emperors and princesses--while his mother is a big name in Yorkshire. Zayn resembles a living Greek statue, not just in looks but in his personality as well. Fuck his cuttingly high cheek bones and amber brown eyes that hold a tinge of mossy green, amber-greens that Harry swears glitters under the gas lamps and candlelight. They're framed with lush lashes that shouldn't belong to a bloke. And his plump dark lips that naturally form a kissable pout that Harry definitely does _not_ want to kiss. There is no way on Merlin's beard that Harry wants to card his fingers through the soft black hair as he finds out if the brownish black quiff feels as silky and luxurious as it appears. He has no need nor desires to see if the inside of Zayn's lips taste like iced raspberries and Yorkshire tea.

None at all.

"Erm, wondering where you were, actually," Harry mumbles. Ah hell, that was too polite to be Niall. That Irish twit can outswear a dated sailor any day.

 "I told you that I had a Charms essay to finish at the library, y' cunt," Zayn replies, eyes warm and teasing.

"Fuck you." Harry retorts in a sassy tone that Louis himself would be proud of.

"Nah, you know how I feel about faggots." 

That's another thing. (And Harry wonders why the hell there are so many things now.) Zayn is openly and utterly homophobic. You can count on him to hiss out a slew of homophobic slurs that are quite colourful. Harry and his posse have always thought that Niall might be at least bi but they can't be sure. Niall is a 'carefree mofo'—his words, not theirs—and he honestly doesn't care what people say about him. Maybe that's why the Irish lad and Zayn get along swimmingly. The icy and the carefree, it has a nice ring to it.

 "Yeah. Anyways, let's just go in and do some shit, yeah?" Harry manages.

 Zayn shakes his head fondly as he says the password ('Purity') and they walk in. A group of you get students greet them and Harry almost greets them back before he remembers who he is pretending to be. Zayn regards them coldly before they take their seats in front of the fireplace. The green leather sofa sinks nearly right down to the floor and the flames crackle merrily.

 "Ever think about how stupid everything is?" Zayn muses, eyeing the silver goblet that is embedded with emeralds and pearls. Harry has seen it before at feasts. Every Christmas, Zayn has brought it down to the Hall to pour himself some wine or champagne. It's some family heirloom that the oldest son inherits, or something like that.

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Every fucking person thinks that it's fantastic that Potter defeated the Dark Lord. What was so wrong with us purebloods ruling above all? Muggles are no better than animals, they don't deserve the privilege of learning our magic. They should live in ignorance and idiocy reserved for them! Look at Payne, for instance. All the professors dote on that twat because he shines rainbows out his arse. Personally, I think he blows or fucks the profs to get perfect grades," Zayn sneers.

Harry stands up before he can help himself. "He doesn't!" He growls. Then he slaps a hand over his mouth like he fool he is.

"What did you say, Nialler?" Did you just defend that Mudblood?"

"No," Harry answers weakly. "I think he just spends too much time in the library?"

 Zayn looks at him with glittering amber eyes. "True. Maybe he fucks himself in there, tossin' to the thoughts of whatever chap he fancies. He and his friends are so faggots. To each and their own, aye?"

Harry swallows thickly. He nods and hmm's as Zayn rants on. Eventually, he starts to blink slowly as if on the verge of falling asleep and his large eyes slip closed completely.  When he does, his head leans up on Harry's shoulder.

 The curly haired lad swears that he can feel his heart stutter. He's seen haughty Zayn, snobby Zayn, angsty Zayn and even angry Zayn, but his sleeping angelic creature before his eyes is a different person altogether.

 In his sleep, Zayn has zero guards against the world. His immaculate quiff is starting to escape the epic amounts of gel holding it in its place and a few locks are falling into his close eyelids. His lips are still in that stubborn pouting pose, too damn inviting to be sane or healthy for others around him.

Harry is a right fool because he is leaning in and he can feel his breaths reflect back to him against Zayn's cheeks and . . .

 He kisses Zayn right on his plump lips.

 And wow, he tastes a bit like raspberries and a swirl of smoke and purely Zayn. The expensive aftershave that he wears wafts up into Harry's nostrils and he inhales deeply.

"What the actual fuck?!!" an Irish voice shouts from the door.

 Harry snaps his head up just in time to see the real Niall march up to him, his face mottled red with anger. He squeaks as he jumps upright and flees the Slytherin commons. The entire way up the dungeon, Harry berates himself for being so stupid and reckless by kissing Zayn. Where did that thought come from? Why had he felt the overwhelming need to touch his lips to Zayn's, someone who hates one of his best mates based purely on his bloodline and intelligence. It's a widely known fact that Zayn is the biggest bully in Hogwarts and the professors try to curb him with no avail. The house head, Slughorn, doesn't even blink when Zayn insults a muggle-born right under his round nose.

 When he returns to the Gryffindor commons, Louis is grinning widely.

 "Soooooooo?" The flamboyant lad with wispy brown hair draws out. "Did they buy it?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "I had a nice little chat with Malik, if that's what you mean."

Louis claps him on the back and laughs boisterously. "'Atta boy! What'd you talk 'bout? Exams, girls, the fuckin' weather?"

Harry scowls. "We talked about how I need more friends who are sane, actually."

"I think you did something that you regret, mate," Louis deadpans.

Sometimes, Harry really hates his best mates.

"'S nothing!" He says a beat too early.

"Nothing is nothing when it comes to a five-year-old crush, Styles! You did something wicked and now you think you should't've. Spill before I go through your stuff."

 Harry sputters as he blanches. The last time Louis tornado'd through his stuff two years ago, the entire room had been an absolute mess. They couldn't see where the floor starts and where the beds and other furniture is with the clothes and school supplies covering everything. It took Harry two full weeks to manually restore order back in the shared room since none of the spells Liam taught him worked. Louis had to make it up to Harry by buying him lots and lots of red velvet cupcake and caramel-flavoured butter beer for a month.

"Ikissedhim," Harry moans into the plush pillow sat on the sofa.

"You what?" Louis yells.

"I kissed Zayn, 'kay?" Harry says slowly. "He fell asleep and my body acted without thinking and my lips touched his for a few seconds and Niall saw that so I'm screwed now." 

Louis laughs. The bastard laughs for real, clutching at his stomach and falling onto the carpeted floor just to roll around on it.

 Son of a banshee.

 "'S not funny!" Harry whines, wondering if he can suffocate himself with the pillow.

"You finally kissed Zayn after five years of pining; 'course it's hilarious!" Louis exclaims loudly enough for everyone currently present in the lounge. Underneath the inquisitive stares, Harry burrows further into the soft warmth of of the pillow and the sofa. He will kill Louis, resurrect him, and then beat him to death again for this. He will.

"Shut it, Boo Bear," Harry hisses out. "Or I'll tell everyone that in third year, you sent a love letter to Hermione but she flat out rejected you. Said that she couldn't, quote, 'Go out with someone with the mental efficiency worse than a pre-foetal mix of egg and sperm and the emotional range of a teaspoon.'"

 Louis' entire face flames and he glares at his curly-haired best mate. "I told you to never speak of it! Or even think of that thing?"

 (See? So many _thing_ s around. )

 "Then don't press me about that Malik prat.  I am _not_ in love with him!"

 Louis huffs but Harry knows that he'll be forgiven before tea. The Doncaster lad is like that, flippant and spontaneous. He'll say and do anything without thinking twice and never, never, never stop for anyone or anything. It's an admirable quality, he reckons. Harry has long suspected that Louis' reckless tendencies and his openness towards doing whatever is why the Hat Sorted Louis into Gryffindor.

 As for himself, Harry hasn't the faintest clue as to why the Hat put him in his current house. He doesn't do brave things like volunteer to be the first one to fly off in the first year flying lessons. Or skinny-dip at the Black Lake on Christmas Eve just for shits and giggles. (Louis insisted that all three of them plus Josh do it for the sake of his sixteenth but Harry said no as politely as he could muster. Louis forgave him for his inadequate courage in a heartbeat. )

 He has often wondered if the Hat was drunk that fateful day.

 "Earth to Hazza!" Louis shouts, waving a feminine hand in front of him. "Are you thinking about how gorgeous my arse is?"

 Harry snorts out a laugh. For someone so flamboyant, Louis is as straight as a diamond rod; diamond rods are suppose to be non-bendable, right?

"Of course, Boo. Your gorgeous arse is the object of every girl's envy." Harry humours him.

"Damn right it is. Bitches all want a piece of this," Louis concedes, shaking his behind and Harry swears that the cheeks bounce and shimmy.

 

 

-

 

  

Zayn is dreaming.

 

He had to be because there is no way that Harry fucking Styles would willingly kiss him. On the mouth.

The Cheshire lad tastes like his cologne: midnight rain with a hint of fallen leaves. The red lips are softer than a cloud and so juicy and, hell, Zayn wants to keep kissing Harry forever.

 But when he wakes, it is to Niall shaking his shoulders roughly and cussing loudly.

 "Fuckin' 'ell, Zayn," Niall spits. "I swear you sleep like the dead. You sure you weren't bitten by a vamp when you went up to Romania couple years ago?"

Zayn laughs dryly. "I can assure you that I don't crave yur blud."

"Well, we've bigger things to worry 'bout. Someone disguised themselves as meself and snuck in just now. That little fucker was kissin' ya! Full on your mouth and all!"

 Zayn feels the blood drain from his face.

Harry actually kissed him?

 Holy Horntail, he did.

 "What did he smell like?" Zayn queries.

Niall gives him a quizzical look. "Rain and somethin' else. Dunno, he smelled alright."

 Zayn freezes.

 Okay, that really, truly happened.

 And it can't happen again.

 Everyone knows that Harry's friends with a muggle-born genius and that loud twat. And Zayn can't love someone who isn't a woman. Fucking family pride. His father, Yaser, expects him to carry the prestigious Malik name by marrying a pureblood with loads of gold in Gringotts and have like ten kids. He can't get a guy pregnant so there is no way that he can come out to his parents. Not ever.

So Zayn had to be crueler than ever to Harry.

 That is the only way.

 

 

-

  

 

One way or another, Harry will forget that he ever kissed Zayn. He will erase the taste of raspberries and cigar smokes from his memory. He will forsake the softness of Zayn's dark plump lips from his mind. He will remind himself that Zayn is an ice-hearted, spoilt, selfish brat that has affections no-one except for Niall.

 He will.

 Whatever it takes is fine.

 

So he relegates himself to the stuffy confines of the library and buries his nose in a gigantic Potions textbook. He hates Potions with a passion but if he wants to pursue a career in becoming an Auror, he needs Defence Against Dark Arts (duh), Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures (just in case the Dark wizards have trained some unmentionable beasts). So he has no choice but to torture himself with a full-page essay on the proper uses of mandrake roots and the creative uses as well. It's a right torment worse then Cruciatus curse, he'll wager.

 "Styles," an exotic voice sneers.

 Harry peers back at the source of the voice.

 Ah hell. He hasn't an ounce of luck, has he?

 "Malik," he returns just as coldly.

"Ah, the Styles hospitality," Zayn mocks, amber/green/brown eyes glittering like ice sculptures.

"What do you want?" harry grinds out. His thoughts are torn. Half of him wants to attack the gorgeous boy and half if him wants to taste the Greek god.

"Personally, nothing. But McGonagall wants to see you."

 Without a spoken reply, Harry rolled up his parchments and walked away.

 Completely missing the outstretched olive arm that was pointed towards him.

 

 

-

  

 

Turns out, McGonagall only wanted to talk to Harry about the Quidditch Cup. She went into a long rant about how she has long grown used to seeing both the House and the Quidditch Cups displayed proudly in her office ever since Harry Potter resided in Hogwarts. Harry (Styles) snorts because he knows that he has the best team ever. With himself as the Seeker and Louis as a Beater--his thick biceps really are perfect for that--three nimble and fairly attractive girls as Chasers (Danielle, Cara, and Tatiana) , another boy named Josh as the second Beater and a robust bloke named Nick as their Keeper, the Quidditch Cup is as good as theirs already.

 After the rather long speech/rant, Harry decides to duck into the prefect bathroom. He loves being the Quidditch captain as he has some prefect privileges. He has slaved over the essays and whatnot all day so the least he deserves is a soothing bath.

 He enters the bathroom and proceeds to shuck off his clothes straight away.

A second after he is buck-naked, he realises that he isn't alone.

The bath is already running and filled to the brim with berries-scented bubbles the size of watermelons.

And there is a naked boy inside he tub.

 Who is none other than Zayn Malik.

 "The fuck? Why are you here?" Zayn yells, hands flying downwards to cover himself.

"'M a captain; I'm actually allowed in the prefect bathroom!" Harry shouts back. He reaslises that he, too, is naked. Face flushed a neon red, Harry covers himself.

"Well, I'm a prefect, so whatever." He waves a hand dismissively. "First come, first served; sod off."

"No way!" Harry blurts. "I need this bath! Have you tried writing essays for Potions?!! A full-pager at that? You are the one who should shove off!"

 Harry hadn't realised how he has been taking a step with each word. So, suffice to say, Harry isn't prepared at he least to come face-to-face with the beautiful creature with the wit of a devil. He could smell the raspberry and cigar smoke swirling in the air between then already.

"What's it gonna be, Harry?" Zayn asks, false-like eyelashes lowering dramatically. "Who will fight? Who will fall far behind?"

 Vaguely, Harry recognised the lyrics from the famous Bon Iver song. The fact that Zayn knows a muggle singer alone has him gobsmacked. But to hear those lyrics tinged with Zayn's exotic accent is too die for. (Harry wonders if it's a bad thing that he is sounding like a teenage girl who is hard-core crushing on the guy next door. Then again, Zayn is sort of the boy next door sprinkled with extra sexiness and cutting cheekbones and icy amber-hazel eyes that just. . . )

 Harry shakes his head. Taking in a deep breath or two, he clenches his right fist. Before Zayn can see what Harry is doing, he swings his fist back and looses it. He hits Zayn squarely on the jawline, that obviously visible spot right between his chiselled jaw and start of his neck.

 Hearing Zayn swear colourfully, Harry back-steps out of the bathroom and doesn't stop running until he is stood in front of the Fat Lady.

 ("Cherry kiss dammit; lemme in already!")

 "'S the matter with you?" Louis asks, an eyebrow cocked.

"I saw Zayn naked." Harry says truthfully because he is a right nitwit.

"How?" Louis presses, eyebrows now shooting into his wispy bangs and crystal blue eyes wide as saucers.

"He was in the prefect bathroom. In the tub. Naked. Like stark naked and I. . ."

"Saw his balls." Louis ventures a guess.

"I punched him on the jaw," Harry confesses.

"Why?" Louis yells, maybe too loudly because now everyone on the commons os staring at the duo. "You've been eye-fucking him for five years now! You're supposed to snog the life out of him and then fuck him against the bathtub wall!"

 Now their audience is starting to laugh, or at least cough to disguise the sound. Harry is sure that he wants to suffocate Louis at night with his own pillow.

 "I hate him. I hate his guts and that's why I didn't kiss him or shag him."

He can now hear the whispers and snickers from his fellow Gryffindors.

 He truly hates Louis.

 

 

-

 

 

 

Zayn's heart is in his throat.

 The door to the prefect bathroom opens to reveal Harry. The curly haired angel shucks off all his clothes down to his birthday suit. And damn, Zayn licks at his lips in appreciation because Harry has a marvellous body. He wouldn't mind mapping out each line and contour with the tip of his tongue as Harry is sprawled out on his—

 Zayn mentally slaps his cheeks. He is not going there _now_.

Harry is only a foot away from him when the other lad stiffens and notices him for the first time.

"The fuck? Why are you here?" Zayn yells, hurrying to cover himself.

"'M a captain; I'm actually allowed in the prefect bathroom!" Harry shouts back, face reddening a bright neon red.

"Well, I'm a prefect, so whatever." He waves Harry off. "First come, first served; sod off."

"No way! I need this bath! Have you tried writing essays for Potions?!! A full-pager at that? You are the one who should shove off!"

 Harry has been taking a step towards Zayn with each word, resulting in him standing merely a foot away from him by the end.

"What's it gonna be, Harry?" Zayn asks, false-like eyelashes lowering dramatically. "Who will fight? Who will fall far behind?"

 The space between Harry's dark brows crease considerably before something solid flies into his jaw. He feels his head snap from the force and he cups his jugular. It throbs from the blow and it fucking hurts. Harry back-steps out of the bathroom before he sprints down the corridor.

 Zayn spends the next half-hour in the raspberry-scented bubbles. He is not ready to face Niall yet.

 

 

-

 

  

Harry loves Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid is an awesome teacher and he favours Harry and Louis a bit too. One drawback is that it's his only class that he shares with the seventh year Slytherins. Which means that it's an hour spent with Zayn and Niall.

"Alright, ye ungrateful gits," Hagrid grumbles, ushering them forwards. "Time to meet today's lesson."

 The year sevens shuffle their feet forward. Hagrid has this haphazard way of teaching. The students have no choice but to face whatever magical creature Hagrid had in store for them.

Thankfully, it's a repeat lesson today.

 "You've met the hippogriffs, before, aye?" Hagrid asks. They all mumble their assent. Harry breathes out a sigh of relief. He and the famous Buckbeak had got along very well in his fourth year. Maybe it had been due to Niall smearing weasel dung over his backside but whatever.

 They are each assigned to a hippogriff and to Harry's relief, he is pairsed up with Buckbeak. The beast seems to recognise Harry as he lowers his head in a bow in response to Harry. Harry timidly reaches out with his hand, waiting for Buckbeak to nuzzle it with his head. When he feels the feathery softness underneath his fingertips, he smiles in victory. Soon enough, Hagrid is hoisting him up to Buckbeak's back and smacking the horse butt. With a whinny, Buckbeak starts to gallop forwards until his wings sweep him and Harry upwards.

 Flying on a hippogriff is very different from the smooth nothingness of a flying on a broomstick. With each downstroke of the beast's massive eagle wings, Harry can feel his body bob up and down unsteadily and stably.

Harry notices that there is something wrong when he spots twin columns of blue-and-red flames in the middle of a forest. He steers Buckbeak to the source of the flames.

 He really shouldn't have.

 Perched on top of a rocky cliff over a miniature waterfall (Harry vaguely notes that it's the same one that he an his posse sneak out to sometimes in the summer.) is a fully grown dragon. A green monster with glowing yellow eyes. Eyes that are trained in Harry.

Bollocks.

  

 

Harry veers Buckbeak's head away from the dragon, trying not to aggravate the reptilian. His strategy fails as the dragon unfurls its wings and looses a roar that literally has Harry shaking.

 "C'mon, Buckbeak. Let's get out before we're toast," Harry urges.

 The hippogriff (thank his lucky stars) listens to the urgency in his tone and flies away as quickly as he can. But judging by the heat chasing him, Harry can only imagine how close the dragon is.

 "EVERYONE GET INSIDE!" Harry yells, approaching Hagrid's hut. "DRAGON ON THE LOOSE! ALERT THE PROFS!!!!"

 The girls are the first to flee, screaming heir heads off like banshees. That leaves Harry, Louis, Hagrid, Niall and Zayn to deal with the dragon. The dragon lands gracefully several yards away from them.

 "Remember," Hagrid reminds them. "A dragon's biggest weakness is its eyes. Aim for its eyes and we'll have it subdued in no time."

"What if we don't?" Louis asks because he's Louis. Harry wants to smack him upside his head but given the dire situation they are in, Harry settles for a stink-eye.

"Pray that yer parents have a life insurance," Hagrid dead-pans indifferently.

 The dragon roars and from the corner of his eyes, Harry spots Buckbeak take off. The hybrid beast rakes his claws down the dragon's sides, drawing copious amounts of dark blood. Snapping back into attention, Harry takes out his wand and yells out the first thing that comes to his head: "Expelli armous!"

Genius, that he is.

 The ugly creature is thrown back a couple inches, its nostrils flaring angrily. It rears back its head and roars again.

Harry barely has time to register the fact that the dragon is opening its snout, aiming at Harry, and breathing out fire.

A warm body jumps in front of him and tackles him down to the dirt ground. The hard impact knocks the wind out of Harry's lungs and he can feel his head throb from the jarring hit.

After his head stops spinning somewhat, Harry dares open his eyes.

 On top of him is none other than Zayn. The olive-skinned beauty is sprawled atop him, body forming a protective cage around him. There is a faint shimmer in the shape of a dome above them as well. Like a shield.

 "A little help would be nice!" Niall shouts, waving his wand randomly at the dragon, which shoots sparks of something at the raged creature.

 Harry blushes and Zayn rolls off him, muttering, "A little thank-you would be appreciated."

 "Thanks," says Harry, sounding breathless even to himself.

 Niall cusses loudly and produces a fat stream of fire from his wand. _Fighting fire with fire,_ Harry muses.

 Apparently it works brilliantly because the dragon is backing up. The professors have arrived and together they put the dragon to a comatose sleep.

And that is the exact moment that Zayn smirks at Harry as he collapses onto the ground next to Harry.

 Niall rushes over to his best mate and rolls him over to his stomach. A gasp escapes Harry's mouth as he discovers a large burn on Zayn's right shoulder.

 "Fuckin' 'ell!" Niall sums it up perfectly.

 

 

-

  

 

Zayn ends up in the infirmary for a solid fortnight.

 Third-degree burns and a dislocated shoulder are tough to treat even with magic, it turns out.

 Harry visits Zayn every day. For the first two days, Zayn is asleep for the visits. Harry settles for stealing a kiss upon those plump, kissable lips.

 The first time Zayn is conscious for a visit, he blushes a dark crimson.

 "Why're you here?" he demands, pulling the covers around him snugly.

"To say 'hi'," answers Harry. "And since I'm the one who got you into this mess, 'a only fair that I at least say thanks."

"I'd say anytime, but I don't fancy being stuck in a bed for long time."

Awkward silence fills the air between them. Harry inches forward until he can comfortably plop down on the bottom corner.

 "I was proper worried about you." Harry confesses.

"Why would you be?" Zayn sounds bewildered.

"'CauseI'vebeeninlovewithyouforfiveyearsthat'swhy, you prick."

"What?" Zayn's amber brown/hazel eyes widen in confusion.

 With a growl, Harry lunges forwards and attaches his lips to Zayn's. He can feel Zayn flail around as he is shell-shocked by Harry's actions. But Harry is insistent as he pries Zayn's lips open. Soon, their tongues are tangling and spit are definitely swapped.

 "I've been in love with you forever, you fool," Harry whispers against Zayn's pouty lips.

"Same here, Harry. Same here."

 

 

-

 

  

Harry should have been expected it, really.

 He walks into an empty classroom with Zayn in tow for an uninterrupted snogging session. What happens is that he ends up interrupting them.

 "I wasn't—"

"We were just—"

"Save it, you slags," Zayn laughs out.

 Case in point, all of Niall's shirt buttons are undone while Liam's is halfway loosened. And to top it off, the buttons on their trousers are popped open like they had been about to get it on.

 "Oh gross," Harry groans.

"But we were gonna do the same, babe!" Zayn pouts.

"It's different when you're walking in on other people!" Harry insists.

"Good on ya, Nialler! I thought you'd never go for Leeyum," Zayn pats the blushing blond on the back.

"Love is cute," Zayn comments as they walk out in seatch of another unoccupied classroom.

"You're cute."

"No you're cute."

 Harry smiles and bumps his shoulder into Zayn.

 He is going to have the best year ever.


End file.
